


After The Long Night

by Katlyn1948



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, F/M, Family Bonding, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sibling Bonding, Sister-Sister Relationship, after the long night, shit is getting deep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katlyn1948/pseuds/Katlyn1948
Summary: Arya and Gendry’s journey after the long night.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 11
Kudos: 93





	1. Let's Revel in Being Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Well I finally put in a multichapter aye...

The charred remains of what used to be Winterfell fizzled as dying embers were snuffed by the rising cold. Daylight had broken, and one could begin to take in the damage The Long Night had done. Hundreds of bodies laid across the battlements, and hundreds more within the walls of Winterfell. Wherever one turned there was a body that needed to be burned. No man, woman, or child was sparred; not when the dead had risen.

But as saddening as it was, a certain blacksmith hadn’t paid much attention to the bodies surrounding him, his thoughts were elsewhere; to living that had survived because surely she would be among them. He thought it impossible for her to perish; he wasn’t a fighter, yet he survived, so she must have survived with her grit and spirit. There was no way the dead would take Arya Stark.

He stumbled through the entryway of The Great Hall, a stronghold that managed to survive the attack, and was greeted by a multitude of injured people. The maester, along with healers and ordinary wet nurses scurried about, treating those that would make it and making those that would perish comfortable for their demise.

Gendry scanned his blue eyes across the languished bodies, only to sigh a breath of relief when he saw her sitting in the corner of the hall. Her head was bleeding and there was a cut just above her right thigh. She was injured, but alive and that’s all that mattered.

He should’ve have paused his advances, he was sure she would want to be accompanied by her family that was surrounding her, but his feet were moving on their own accord. It took all of three large strides to reach where she was huddled, with her sister and older brother bickering about what treatment would be the best for their injured sister.

She looked annoyed but let the pudgy healer at her side tend to her wounds. It was only when she noticed Gendry hovering behind Jon did she lift from her chair. Her head was spinning, but that did little to stop herself from throwing her arms around his large frame, letting him swoop her up into his waiting embrace.

“You’re alive.” The relief was evident in her voice at the sudden revelation. She hadn’t let herself think of the other possibility, the pain to unbearable to grasp.

“And so are you.” He whispered in return. She was safe, in his arms, where no one or thing could touch her. Little concern entered his mind as he realized that there were wondering eyes in their direction. He hadn’t the care to think about what the consequences could be with this blatant show of affection. Surely he would be flogged for all to see for so much as laying a hand on The King in the North’s youngest sister, but he would take a thousand whippings if it meant she was safe.

“Ahem.” The clearing of a throat pulled them apart and Arya quickly slipped from Gendry’s embrace. Their gaze fell upon the King in the North as he looked between the pair, a million questions forming in his dark grey irises.

“Don’t.” Arya interpreted before he had a chance to say anything. “Your questions will be answered, but not tonight.”

She took a hold of Gendry’s hand, grasping it firmly in her own and pulling him through the battered hallways of her childhood home. The bodies had been cleared, but the remnants of what the dead left behind were visible on each wall as they passed through tumbling corridors.

The dead dragon had taken nearly half of Winterfell, but the wing where the chambers were housed had remained untouched.

Gendry had never imagined entering Arya’s chambers; he had expected something grand and extravagant, but to his surprise there was only a four-poster bed, a small round table meant for no more than two participants, an escritoire, and a fireplace. There was a chest at the foot of her bed, which housed her jerkins, breeches, and to no one’s knowledge but her own, a few faces she had snatched from house of Black and White.

In the center of her chambers stood a large brass tub filled with steaming water and fresh scents. The maids that survived the attacks must’ve filled each chamber with a tub for which ever occupant was lucky enough to find one.

Arya began to shed her clothes. They clung to her body like a second skin, the blood of the dead coating every inch. She winced as she tugged off her breeches, the fabric nicking at her wound. Gendry had to steady her before she stumbled onto the floor.

He watched as she stood bare and climbed into the tub, sinking beneath the water’s surface. A few seconds passed before she pierced the air, her face divulged of the grime it once had. “Are you going to join me or are you planning to gawk the whole night?”

Gendry began to tug at his own clothes, finding it difficult to tug them off. He hadn’t noticed how sore his body actually was until the adrenaline of the night had finally ceased. His arms felt like mud and his back was aching, no doubt from where a wight had tried to bite him. He had a rather nasty cut on his bicep that would need a few stiches, and a bruise was beginning to form on his left cheek.

He had seen better days, but knowing that he had survived, he made a note not to complain.

Slowly, he left the warm water waft around his aching bones as he lowered himself into the tub. He sat across from Arya, tangling his legs with hers, letting the sweet aroma of lavender and vanilla relax him. If it weren’t for Arya’s piercing grey eyes, he would have fallen into slumber, but he found himself awake and alert, hypnotized by her gaze.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked after a time of silence has passed between them. They had taken their time washing away the reminder of The Long Night, wallowing in the tub of water which had now started to cool.

Arya lifted her uninjured leg from the water, letting the droplets fall down her slick skin before resting it upon Gendry’s shoulder. “I’m thinking about all the bodies we have to burn. The pyres will smoke for days.”

He brought his hands to rest leg, letting the callouses on his fingers brush along her wet skin, stopping just at the crease of her knee. He squeezed her calf then, letting his palms kneed the tight muscles of her leg as he traveled down to the small of her foot.

“And?” he urged as he continued to massage her leg. There was more to what she was willing to share; more than damned pyres or bodies to burn.

“And…” a soft moan escaped from Arya’s lips as she took in the feeling. His light touches, with slight nuances of pressure did wonders to her aching leg and it took everything in her not to cascade into sweet slumber. “I’m thinking about all the questions we will have to answer. Jon and Sansa will want to know what…this is.”

She pulled her leg away slightly, just enough to let Gendry’s hands fall back into the water.

He sighed as he lifted himself from the tub, grabbing a terry cloth to cover himself as he did so.

“What is this, then?” He had made his way to the fireplace, taking one of the chairs from the round table and sitting squarely in front of the flames to let the excess water dry from his body. “What do we tell your family?”

Arya remained in the tub, curling her legs underneath her before resting her chin on her exposed knees. “You’re not going to get gelded, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m being serious, Arry.” Gendry groaned. “Your brother and sister have questions. They know something happened, and you did little to quench their suspicions when you brought me to your chambers.”

Arya sighed in annoyance as she lifted herself from the tub, completely forgoing the terry cloth. Drops of water dripped down her bruised body as she went to straddle Gendry’s hips. She curled her arms around his neck and pecked his lips with a light kiss. “Let them have their suspicions. I am woman grown and they have no reign over whom I spend my time with.”

“And what if they make you marry me?” He challenged.

Arya scoffed, “My siblings cannot make me do anything.”

“But, Arry-”

“I do not wish to think about what tomorrow could bring. We survived the dead, Gendry, let’s revel in that tonight.” She stole his lips, quashing any protests he may have voiced. Her tongue dipped into his parted lips, taking in the taste of salt upon his own frenzied tongue.

The terry cloth that had remained on Gendry’s hips slipped from between their bodies, causing the friction from their pyretic movements to explode a sweet sensation through their wanting beings.

Gendry’s member had erected, and Arya’s thrust only edged him further along before he easily slipped in betwixt her aching legs. Their movements were frantic as the feelings of loss had begun to resurface. Every ounce of fear that had erupted through Gendry’s body as he remembered looking for Arya weaved into the way he was taking her.

And the sense of relief Arya had felt when she saw Gendry standing in the entry way of the great hall seeped it’s way into her bones as she received him.

Their thoughts and feelings were exposed by the grunts and moans of the coupling as they had one another upon the chair in front of the fireplace. The heat of the flames licked at their skin, melting away the cold the dead had left behind.

Surely there would be consequences of their coupling, Gendry knew this, but he was heeding Arya’s advice and reveling in their victory. Reveling in the fact that they did survive.

When they both had cascaded into bliss, taking time to ascend from their descent, did they move to the bed. Their bodies worn from what The Long Night had brought, did they tangle their limbs and hope to fall into a dreamless slumber.

The Long Night had ended, but even longer days were ahead.


	2. The Communication Between Family

There was a slight chill in the air as the soft light of the suns rays burst through the small opening of the curtains in Arya’s chambers. The embers of the fire had died long before she opened her eyes, her only warmth now coming from the body that was embracing her. She could still hear the soft snores from Gendry when she woke from slumber. His arm was draped around her exposed body and their legs had tangled themselves within the furs of her bed. His hand laid gently on her sides with his fingertips lightly caressing her pucker scars.

She had yet to tell him about the origins of her scars. They weren’t discussed when she had decided to bed him for the first time, and he knew better than to ask. The dead were approaching, and they had better things to do than to talk about haunted pasts.

Even as they joined the night before, he did not broach the subject. Their thoughts, were again, elsewhere.

But now, with the dead staying dead and another war to ready themselves for, perhaps she could take the time to tell him the story of her time in Bravvos.

She unwrapped herself from his arms pulling on the smallclothes that laid strewn across her chambers and grabbed the pitcher of brisk water, pouring herself a glass. It was cold, the liquid, no doubt from the chill that had entered the castle, and it quenched her morning thirst.

Most of the castle would still be asleep; the sun had just risen above the horizon, yet still too early for anything to be properly done. The only ones to be awake at this hour would be maids and cooks and servants readying the castle for the day ahead.

There was a lot to be done. The bodies had to be laid upon the pyres, burned for the gods to take. Council would have to be held for how to proceed with marching in King’s Landing and feast would have to take place, to celebrate their victory.

When her brother had found her in the Godswood with the ashes of the Night King scattered around the Heart Tree, she had pleaded for discretion. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know it was her, Arya Stark of Winterfell, that had killed the beast. But there were ears all around Winterfell, and soon the whole castle knew who the true victor was.

No doubt the boars, and turkeys, and sweet jams and cheese would all be in her honor. Men would gorge themselves on ale and the women would sip at their wine, all in praise of their savor. Arya would make sure to keep herself scarce, letting the party hail her the hero while she remained in the shadows.

Slipping from her chambers, she padded her way down the corridor of bedchambers, passing by Robb’s, Rickon’s, even Theon’s old bearings. It was bittersweet knowing her brother’s would never sleep in those beds again, but rather they were safe with her parents under whatever Gods had taken their souls.

She stopped shy of her parent’s old chambers, now belonging to her sister, and wondered if Lady Stark was warm in her bed. It was doubtful; Sansa had trouble sleeping, even before her sister returned to Winterfell. There were mornings that Arya would greet her sister in the dining hall and notice the dark circles coating beneath her eyes.

There were a number of nights, before The Long Night and before Jon arrived at Winterfell with the Dragon Queen, would Arya hear her sister pace her chambers as she herself would lurk between the shadows.

Bringing her fist to hover just above the oak door, Arya knocked. It was a low sound, only strong enough to be heard from within the chambers. There was a sound of movement and then the unlatching of a lock before the door swung open. She was expecting to see her sister’s fiery red hair, not her eldest brother’s dark curls.

Sansa was dressed in her full attire sitting at the large round table within her chambers. Their youngest brother Bran was seated just across from her, an old look upon his face that Arya had not seen since she had returned to Winterfell. Jon looked as if he hadn’t slept in days and the clothes he was bearing were simple, the ones he would often wear when sparring with Robb when they were younger.

He took in his sister’s form and noticed she was wearing only her small clothes. Sighing, he reached beside him, pulling one of Sansa’s chamber robes and handing it off to her.

Arya took the robe and secured it around her frame, the hem of the garment tangling within her feet. It had been custom made for Sansa’s body, making it look like a tent on Arya’s petite body.

When Jon opened the door farther for her to enter, she complied and made her way to the round table, taking her own seat.

“A family meeting without me, I see.” She mused as she plucked a grape from the center tray of food and popped it into her mouth.

“We wanted you to sleep.” Sansa simply stated with a sound of concern in her voice. “You nearly died.”

Arya scoffed, “We _all_ nearly died, Sansa.”

“What Sansa means is that we weren’t discussing anything of great importance.” Jon assured. “You weren’t needed.”

“If it wasn’t of great importance, then why are all of my siblings gathered and I am so conveniently absent?” Her annoyance was evident. There was something her siblings were keeping from her and she didn’t like being withdrawn from such discussions.

“They were discussing whether or not you should wed the bastard blacksmith.” Bran intervened. His voice hadn’t been nearly as stoic as it was when Arya first arrived back in Winterfell. There was a hint of the old Bran resurfacing.

Arya’s brows shot up in favorable reception, rather than surprise. Gendry had been right, and perhaps they should have taken the time to discuss what they were before meeting with her siblings. “Have you, now? Well, I must say, I would have liked to apart of those discussions, since it is my future you’re talking about.”

She should have been angry, truth be told, she was, but curiosity got the better of her and she genuinely wanted to hear what her siblings had to say. Of course, she would be reassuring her that she will not be wedding anyone in the near or distant future.

“That display of affection did not go unnoticed, Arya. The keep is talking. Not to mention you dragged him away to your chambers with all of us staring; what are we supposed to think?” Sansa had the uncanny ability to chastised, reprimand, and guilt trip all in one sentence. It was an ability their mother had nearly perfect and on that Arya detested.

“People can think whatever they please.” She shrugged. “Besides, their suspicions would be correct.”

“So you laid with him?” Jon asked. There was tension in his jaw and his fits were clenched. Arya had to trend lightly, not for her, but for the sake of Gendry. No matter how she would explain it, she feared Jon would not listen. Sansa had told her about what he did to Ramsey before she fed him to his dogs.

If he could do that for his estranged sister, what could he do for the sister he loved the most?

“Twice, actually.”

Jon’s nostril’s flared and Arya noticed how his hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword.

“But both times were enticed by me.” She added, hoping to quell his rising anger. “You know Gendry, he would never do anything to hurt me.”

“But he’s Robert Baratheon’s bastard. How do I know he hasn’t planted his seed in you already; leave you with a bastard of your own?” Jon snarled. The words were harsh, and they cut deep within Arya.

She could feel her own anger bubbling and she couldn’t help but throw herself from her chair, letting it fall behind her. She staked to where her brother was standing and squared her stance towards him. He may have been a whole head taller than her, but she had handled men far bigger than him.

“So what if he put his babe in me? It would be a Stark, not a bastard! And don’t you dare compare Gendry to his father, because he is nothing like him!” She shoved a finger into his chest, letting her brother take in the words she was saying. “I’ve known him longer than you, Jon. Gendry took care of me when we were children. He kept me safe. And if I were to fall with child, he would _never_ leave me.”

“He took advantage of you!” Jon countered.

Arya gave a curt laugh at her brother’s stupidity. He hadn’t heard a single thing she said. “No, Jon. I took advantage of him.”

She turned on her heel and left her sister’s chambers, stalking back to her own chamber where Gendry was still fast asleep. She watched him, his face twitching as the cool air swirled within the rooms. Then a smile formed on his sleepy lips and she couldn’t help but wonder what his dreams were filled with. Hopefully something far better than the nightmares that plagued her thoughts during slumber.

She would enjoy this moment, just the two of them cut off from the rest of the world, because she wasn’t sure what would be in store as the days went on. Arya knew that what she and Gendry are was frowned upon and maybe they should cease, but deep down she knew that she could never part herself from him again.

She didn’t have to be married to him to be with him.

They belonged to each other, and maybe after all the wars had been won, they could forge their own path together.


	3. Thoughts of Spring

Preparing the funeral pyres had been a busying distraction for Arya. After her unpleasant conversation with her siblings, she had returned to her chambers. And rather than crawl back into her bed, warm under the weight of her furs and Gendry’s body heat, she readied herself for the day.

There were things to be done and she couldn’t mope about while hundreds of bodies needed to be burned. To her surprise, when she reaches the battlements, most of the bodies had been retrieved and nearly half of the pyres had been built. The remaining north men had done their due diligence and worked through the night. There was exhaustion among the faces she passed, and when she reached a surly man with brown hair and beard that reached to his chest, she had to steady him before he keeled over.

“Why don’t you go and rest?” She said and the man nodded, dragging his tried body to the keep.

She took over his work, lugging logs twice her size up the hills of the battlements and placing them in their proper spots. The maester would have her hide if he knew she was doing strenuous work. Her stiches in her leg were minimal, but one wrong move and she could pop the seam, bleeding all over her clean breeches. It something she adamant to avoid.

For most of the day, she remained in the battlements, and with the help of the other north men the pyres were finished by midday.

The sun had breached the clouds, and for the first time since she stepped foot into Winterfell, there was a calming warmth that came from it. With the Night King dead, winter had ceased, and the dawn of spring was on the horizon.

But there was little time to enjoy the coming whether. Preparations had to be made to ride south; not that day, nor even the next, but soon they would gather in the war room and discuss plans to embark on another dangerous quest.

It was Arya could do to not dwell on the that fact. More people would die, that was inevitable, perhaps even she might see her demise. She had to come to terms that she may be meeting the God of Death sooner than she would like. Which made her time in Winterfell all that more important.

She hated squabbling with her siblings, and even more so, she hated that she was inadvertently avoiding Gendry. She tried not to give merit to what her siblings had said, but she could not deny there were truth behind their words. People would talk; in fact, the rumors had already begun to swirl. As she was leaving her chambers she noticed a few servant girls giggling about at her disheveled appearance. There were weary glances from the remain high lords of the north and even a few soldiers had looked at her cross eyed.

It hadn’t bothered, not really, but the thought of people taking about her indiscretions created an itch she hadn’t had before. Arya knew Gendry would feel uncomfortable with the stares and talk, not to mention his friendship with Jon had now taken a sharp turn for the worst. He would want to try to amend the situation and do something stupid, like propose.

But would he be so bold?

Arya certainly hoped not. She loved him, there was no denying that, but she was not the type of woman for marriage. She would not please him when the time came. She wouldn’t be able to provide to him what a wife should provide for her husband. She would not be able to grant him children. As they grow old, all she would see on his face would be the resentment he held for her.

No. She would not let that happen.

Gendry was her best friend before he was her lover and she would fight to the death to make sure that never changed.

With the sun high in the sky and a light sweat forming atop her brow, Arya thought it best to return back to the keep. Her sister was, no doubt, looking for her and Jon…well he could be avoiding her as she was him. Gendry, if he was up, would be in the forge assessing the damage the dead had brought to his abode.

If she were careful, she could avoid them all together and sneak off to her chambers. She needed a good change before the lighting of the pyres that were bound to happen within the next few hours. If she stayed within the shadows no one would be able to see her and she could remain unseen, even by those with uncanny sight.

But of course she would only be so lucky.

As she reached the gates of Winterfell, her sister was there ready to greet her. There was look of disdain upon her sister’s brow and Arya could only ready herself for the tongue lashing she was about to receive.

“What are you doing?”

Arya sighed, “Helping with the pyres. The bodies are ready to be burned. Theon is-”

“I know where he will be.” Sansa swiftly cut her off. “I meant to ask why you’re helping with they pyres. You shouldn’t be exerting yourself.”

“I needed to think.”

“And you thought it best by lugging logs up a hill?” Sansa shook her head. “What were you thinking?”

Arya could feel the anger bubble within. She knew her sister was hurting but taking it out on her was the best way to go by it. Sansa was looking for any excuse to berate her. “Perhaps I was thinking that I needed to get away for a bit. My siblings cornered me like I was some trapped animal and told me I was damaged goods.”

“We never said-”

“You didn’t have to.” Arya rubbed her temples, the lingering headache her wound had given hadn’t truly subsided and she could feel the throbbing beneath her skull. “I’m not a lady, Sansa. I’ve never been.”

“That’s the thing, Arya, you are. Whether you like it or not, you were born a lady. Nothing you can say or do will change that fact. Perhaps Jon and I were bit harsh, but we are just trying to look out for your wellbeing.” Sansa placed a soft hand on Arya’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly before trotting off to where bodies were now being placed on the pyres.

Arya knew the intentions behind her siblings declarations, but their worry was misplaced. She didn’t need anyone looking out for her wellbeing, not when she had been looking out for herself for years.

Stomping past the training grounds, she made her way to the forge. It hadn’t been badly damaged, not like she thought it would be, and found that Gendry was stoking the fires, placing a piece of steel within it’s flames. It seems his task was to start forging new weapons for the battle to come. He had to start early, if he were to make the necessary number of swords and daggers for the remaining soldiers.

There were usually a few good men around him working, but when the dead came they all perished, even his budding apprentice. Her bother was sure to find him more, but for now it was just him and his steel.

Arya barged her way into the forge, catching Gendry off guard and nearly knocking him to the ground when she came to bring her lips to his. There was hardly any time for him to set the hammer he had in his hand down before she dragged him to the cot he had in the back of the forge, away from prying eyes. Before she had invited him into her bed, he would sleep in the back with nothing but a few furs and fires of the forge to keep him warm.

She only knew of this place because, during those lonely nights before the dead arrived, she would sneak out of her chambers and watch as Gendry slept. His body would violently shiver, and at times, she would bring an extra fur to place over his body.

The cot was too small for it to house both of their forms, but Arya would make do. She pushed him onto the cot, straddling his waist before pressing her lips back to his. She made quick work of the ties at his breeches, loosening them to allow for his growing member to emerge from their prison.

It was times like these that she had wished she worn dresses, because ridding herself of her breeches proved a hassle. Whereas Gendry’s could only be loosened past his apex, Arya had to rid herself of hers completely.

She sighed in contempt as she came to straddle him once more, their bodies joining as one.

This coupling was quick and chaste, and Arya knew she would have little time to chase her release. Hurriedly, she moved her hips, taking in as much of him as she could. Their lips never faltered and as she felt the rising pressure within her core, Gendry swallowed her moan, taking in her gasp with his own breath. His release came soon thereafter, and she allowed him to bury his head into the crook her neck, biting that sweet spot between her lobe and her shoulder.

They remained that way for several minutes before Arya stood from his lap. Her shaky legs struggle to reach the corner where her breeches lay, and even more so as she pulled them up. She took her place in front of Gendry as he still remained seated on the cot and gave him a quick peck before hurrying out of the forge. 

The pyres were near filled with the deceased, and soon they would light them letting those who perished join the gods in peace.


	4. Talks of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is obviously a reload from the individual parts I’ve written and just putting them in a multichapter fix. Those pieces will be deleted soon and all of the stories can be found on this multichapter fic! 
> 
> Please enjoy!

Smoke billowed up to the sky, letting those souls who perished rest in peace. Even as the hours had passed and the preparations for that night’s feast were underway, one could still smell the stench of burning bodies.

When they were set a flame, there was an eerie silence amongst the living, all watching as their friends, family and fellow soldiers were lifted to the Gods, old and new. No matter the faith, they were all there to mourn those that had fought valiantly against the dead.

Arya was tasked with lighting one of the pyres, taking over her sister’s pyre as she mourned the death of Theon Greyjoy. Her sister had yet to tell her of the detailed horrors she had endured while at the hands of Ramsey Bolton, only conveying that Theon had saved her from his clutches. She was sure they had created a bond that only two people with the same shared trauma could make.

Despite all of the betrayals he had thrust upon her family, she thanked the Gods that he was there for her sister, and for that reason only, she had forgiven him.

There was a part in Arya that wanted to weep when she saw the pyres lit. She wanted to weep for those who had lost someone, she wanted to weep for those who were still alive, and she wanted to weep away the years of pain she had endured. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not when there was still one more war to be won.

She retreated back to the castle, following the hoard of bannermen to the council room. Her eldest brother was standing at the head, with Sansa to his right and the dragon queen to his left. The bannermen gathered around a large map of Westeros, tokens representing their remaining armies centered around King’s Landing.

Gendry was standing on the opposite side of the council room, farthest from where she was. They hadn’t spoken about their tryst in the forge; there wasn’t the time, but she knew that he would want to discuss it. She hadn’t said a word when she took him, just throwing her body onto his, hoping he would comply. It wasn’t because she wanted him, it was more out of mere opportunity. She was raging from her sister’s words and she needed to expel it.

It was different from when they were in the storeroom right before the horns sounded or even when they were alone in her chambers. It was faster, rushed and void of emotion. It was mere fuck rather than the vulnerability being with someone should be. It was the type of coupling that Arya thought she wanted, yet even as she had her release, it still felt hollow, and afterwards she felt no more than a common whore.

She had scurried to her rooms then, dunking herself into the tub of hot water the servant girls had left for her. She had scrubbed herself raw, wiping away his seed that had leaked out of her. She washed away the marks of his hands left behind by the soot upon them. She had nearly scrubbed away at her lips, wanting to forget the way his mouth had felt upon hers, but she halted. That kiss, despite their coupling, was real and she couldn’t wash that away.

As more and more bannermen and advisors crammed themselves into the already cramped quarters, she saw Gendry push through the crowd, Jon giving him a weary, yet approving, look. It seemed as if he was gearing up to speak to the room, addressing something important.

“Gentlemen…and ladies,” Jon spoke. “As you know we still have yet another battle to face.”

“That is not our problem.” A surviving lord of House Glover spoke.

Jon crinkled his brows, “Queen Daenerys brought her armies North to fight against the dead, now we repair the favor.”

“Besides, Cersei will stop at nothing to see that the North suffer under her reign. She must be stopped.” Sansa spoke, trying to convince what little of Northern houses remained. Arya knew of her sister’s dislike towards the dragon queen, so seeing her in such agreeance came as bit of a shock to Arya. Of course, her sister would die trying to protect the North, so it was no surprise she wanted Cersei Lannister dead.

“We must march for King’s Landing immediately.” Daenerys said. “The sooner she falls the sooner the independent North and the rest of six kingdoms and heal from her reign.”

Arya scoffed, “We just fought an army of the dead and you expect these men to march south to fight in yet another battle so soon. Might as well hand Cersei the Iron Throne because we’ll all end up dead.”

“Arya-” Her brother tried to warn, but Arya was quick tongued.

“King Jon,” She emphasized, quirking an eyebrow. “I may not know much about battles, but I do know that all of our men, including the Unsullied, need time to heal and rest. King’s Landing isn’t going to magically disappear. Let’s take time to strategize our next move.”

“I agree with the girl.” Tyrion spoke, giving Daenerys a worrying glance. He was scared of her, that much Arya could tell, but there was also an admiration behind his eyes. “My sister has scorpions perched atop the walls of King’s Landing. If you fly your children south so soon after this exertion, then they could get hurt. Or worse…killed.”

Daenerys pursed her lips but seemed to take into accord as to what the people around her had to say. They shouldn’t take an unnecessary risk, and Arya hoped the dragon queen saw that. 

“There’s also the matter of weapons.” Jon proceeded. “Gendry, how are the armories looking?”

Gendry cleared his throat and tossed Arya a pleading look. He was absolutely terrified, not at all accustomed to speaking to such a large group of people. Arya simply nodded, urging him on to speak.

“Not well, your grace. We have plenty of Dragon Glass weapons, but they will do little to help the coming battle in King’s Landing. But give me a few good men and about three moon turns we can make enough swords, spears, and arrow heads to equip everyone twice over.”

“Three moon turns?” Daenerys spoke. “Are you certain you can make that in three moon turns?”

“Aye, your grace, I can.”

Sansa cleared her throat, “That allows our men plenty of time for rest. We can regroup the remaining forces we have and perhaps convince surrounding houses of the other Six Kingdoms to join our cause.”

“And what makes you so sure they would join us?” Daenerys asked.

Arya could see the flicker of anger behind her sister’s eyes and she looked at Daenerys. “Because surely they are tired of a tyrannical reign with rising taxes and illness, with not enough food to feed their families like the rest of us are.”

“Then it’s settled,” Jon interrupted. “We march south in three moon turns.”

The council was adjourned, and Arya watched as her siblings retreated to from the war room, each in opposite directions. Jon scurried off after Daenerys and Sansa retreated to her chambers, no doubt. She could understand her sister wanting privacy, especially since she was to endure a feast sitting beside the dragon queen.

Arya had yet to make her decision about Daenerys Targaryen.

She was strong willed and one to speak her mind. No man talked down to her, for fear of what her children would do, but there was also something…deviant about the woman. She was loyal, to a point, and Arya truly feared for her family if they were to cross her.

But despite what underlying wickedness that could be hiding beneath Daenerys’ skin, Arya still admired the woman. If anything, she looked up to her. There weren’t many women in the world that possessed the qualities that Daenerys Targaryen held, not even Cersei Lannister. It was hard being a monarch, but being a woman and ruling was feat all on it’s own.

Arya was just a lady of a noble house, yet she was still used as political pawn in a deadly chess match. Now image being a woman like Daenerys Targaryen and having to play that game every minute of every day. It took a skill that Arya wasn’t sure she had or wanted.

As the last of the lords exited the council room, Arya made her way to where Gendry had lingered behind. He was standing in the far corner with his hands behind his back and his head hung low, giving her a weary glance. She went to stand before him, only then did his head rise and his gaze landed squarely on her grey eyes.

“I’m proud of you.” She said. “You spoke to those lords like a highborn.”

“As opposed to a bastard.” He said a bit too harshly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Gendry sighed and gave a small nod, “I know…I’m sorry, it’s just…you bloody ran out on me after you attacked me in the forge.”

“I didn’t attack you.” She huffed.

Gendry gave a curt laugh, “Right, you just pushed me onto the cot and had your way with me.”

“Well I didn’t see you complaining.” Arya countered. She knew that she was in the wrong about the whole situation, and that Gendry was right, she had used him.

“Right, well it’s bloody well hard to when you’re straddling me! What was that, Arya? Because that was not like in the storeroom, nor was it like in your chambers.”

She flinched as he said her full name, the sound of it foreign to her ears. Whenever uttered from his lips, her name always sounded like a prayer, a reassurance. Now it sounded like disappointment.

“I needed a distraction.” There was no point in hiding the truth, she would tell him exactly what that was.

“And you saw me as a willing participant?” He dawned an exasperated expression, the lines by his eyes crinkling with frustration.

Arya shrugged, “You were just there, what was I supposed to do?”

“Talk to me about it, not fuck me and leave without so much a thank you!” He threw his hands in the air, completely irritated with the conversation.

“You could have stopped it. You could have said no, thrown me off of you.” She countered, trying to make what she did reasonable.

Gendry scoffed, “And have you never forgiven me? Not likely.”

He ran his hand through his growing hair and let out a frustrated sigh before placing himself in front of her small frame. Arya could see the hurt shining in his blue eyes. She flung her arms around him, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry.”

And then departed the council room, running to the only place she knew she could find solace within her own mind.


	5. Disjointed Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Sansa have a thoughtful conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I managed to update this series...I am still working on "A Tale..." and the latest chapter is rather large. I am trying to get it out on Sunday and it may have to be split up into two different parts. 
> 
> anyway, I hope you all enjoy this update

Arya’s muscles ached as she continued her cadences of melodic movements, each one molding into the next. Her water dancing became an outlet when she was on King’s Landing and she would jump with excitement when it was time for her lessons with Syrio Forell. Even after the uprising and her teachers demise, she tried to maintain her lessons, although she was sure she was doing the moved completely wrong.

And when she was in Bravvos learning the ways of the Faceless Men did she practice, never really giving up Arya Stark.

She found solace in the repeated movements, for they stayed the same. Never changing. It was the one thing in her life that she knew wouldn’t betray her, would never leave her.

As she practiced in the sparing yard, many men would gather around the exterior, marveling that the way her body moved in such fluid motions. Yet, as ever present their curiosity was, they maintained their distance. Only observing, never engaging. For that, Arya was grateful. Of course, she wasn’t opposed to teaching the men of the north a few Water Dancing moves; they could use the added practice. She just wasn’t in the right mind set to teach them.

With the impending war to come and her recent conversation with Gendry, her mind was elsewhere. That’s why she needed this outlet. All of her pent-up frustration had washed away the moment she began her movements. If her body allowed it, she would stay in the yard through the night, never once taking a break. But alas, she was human, and her muscles could only take so much.

When the weight of her Needle became too much, she ceased her movements, sheathing the sword at her hip and stalking off to the castle. Mud trailed behind her as she stomped through the kitchens and banged her boots on the wall. She wanted to keep from making any mess or tracking mud through the corridors of the castle. The last thing she needed was to get a scolding from the head housekeeper about her blatant disregard for cleanliness.

Of course, most of Winterfell castle was already in ruins and there were much more important things to attend to then a few dirty floors, but Arya figured they didn’t need the added work.

“Ana, have someone draw up a bath for me in my chambers.” She stopped on the kitchen maids as she passed through the kitchens. She must have looked a site, because the kitchen maid only gawked and nodded.

“Of course, my lady.” The kitchen maid curtsied before turning on her heel and exiting the opposite direction, most likely fetching a chambermaid to fill Arya’s request.

It wasn’t often she asked the chambermaids to do such things, for she liked to them herself, but she was tired and, with the sun dipping below the horizon, she wanted nothing more than soak and sleep. How she managed to drag her aching legs up the stairs to her chambers was beyond a miracle. When she opened her chamber door, she nearly collapsed on the floor, letting her boots fall from her hands.

“You look an absolute mess.” A voice crept from the shadows of her chambers. Her sister was sitting in the corner, with a dying fire illuminating her face. She had changed from her dress that she had worn during the war meeting, now adorned in something less extravagant and more practical. It was a light blue color, from what Arya could tell, and it was tied loosely around her waist, very contrast to the constant corset her sister liked to wear.

Arya scowled at her sister, not saying a word as she took her seat across from her.

“You also missed dinner.”

“Is that why you’ve come to my chambers, to criticize my appearance or chastise my absence?” Arya said curtly.

Sansa sighed, giving Arya a pointed look. Arya knew that she could be difficult, but when all she wanted was a good soak and sweet slumber and was met with her elder sister looking much like their mother when she used to scold her, her mood could turn sour.

“I came in here to discuss a few things without the presence of Jon.” Sansa explained. “It was a rather untimely intervention we sprung upon you and for that I apologize.”

“Untimely intervention?” Arya scoffed. “You and Jon basically told me that I had to marry Gendry for fear he got his bastard in me. Not to mention discussing my future and life without me.”

“We only want what’s best for you.” Sansa tried to pull Arya’s hands into her soft ones, but Arya pulled them away, tucking them into her lap. “The lords have begun to talk.”

Arya knitted her brows together, “About what?”

There was a knowing look on Sansa’s face, for Arya already knew the answer to her own question. The lords were beginning to talk about her indiscretions. She only remembered the one blatant display and that was after the battle with the Night King. She hadn’t cared, nor bothered to avoid the gazes of those around her as she escorted Gendry up to her chambers.

Not to mention, the chambermaids were notorious with petty gossip. If the lords got wind of what common chambermaids were spewing, the of course they would begin to talk.

“One lord mentioned that you two left the war council room much later than the rest of us.” Sansa stated.

Arya rolled her eyes. The complete audacity with nobles! They were worse than gossiping housewives sipping tea on a summer day. “Not that I need to explain myself, but we were talking, nothing more.”

“Talking about what, Arya.” Sansa questioned.

“That is none of _your_ business.” She spat towards her sister. Arya did not want her private conversations she held with Gendry shared with anyone else, unless she cared to share. The only thing her sister was doing was fishing for information and whether or not she should be worried.

Sansa squared her shoulders, allowing her posture to take near perfection. She looked like their mother then; the great Catelyn Stark. It was eerie and somewhat frightening, and if Arya didn’t know any better she would say that it was Catelyn Stark sitting across from her. Sansa even had the same glare, the one their mother would often use to weed out any misdoings from her children. Even Jon was known to succumb to her glare a few times.

It was a technique that Sansa had nearly perfected and hoped would be efficient against her sister. But Arya was stronger than what she was before. She wasn’t so easily bent, and she’d be damned to give up so easily.

The two stayed that way for a moment’s time, not letting the other win. It was only when a swift knock came from Arya’s door did their gazes shift. Two chambermaids entered Arya’s chambers, hauling a large wooden tub behind them. Pitchers of hot water, most likely from the hot springs beneath the castle, were brought in one by one and emptied into the tub. Plumes of steam rose from the tub, evaporating into the cool air. Fresh lavender and essential oils were poured in, and a terry cloth towel was left hanging over the edge. When the maids finished, they scurried out of the room, leaving the bickering sisters.

Arya turned back to Sansa, who was still in her stance. They were both stubborn and could outlast the other, but what was the point. She would eventually have to tell someone of her troubles, why not divulge it to her sister. The only other person she could speak to about this was the said man that was giving her trouble.

“Gendry’s angry.” Arya finally conceded. There was small smirk upon Sansa’s face that she tried to hide, but Arya was able to catch it.

“Why?”

“Because, I used him for my own needs.”

“Ahh, so he now questions your feelings for him.”

Arya shot her sister a questioning look.

Sansa sighed, rolling her eyes at her sister’s naivety. “Do you love him?”

“I…I-” Arya was unsure how to answer. Did she love him? She knew she felt some way about him, but could she go as far to say that she loved him. She was certainly concerned for him and whether he was alive or dead after she killed the Night King. Even the pure intimacy between them as they laid in the tub together. But could all that amount to love?

“I’m not sure how I feel.” She said honestly.

“Well, you must feel some sort of way about him, otherwise you wouldn’t have given him your maidenhead or taken him to your chambers.” Sansa pointed out.

“I don’t have to be in love without someone just to give them my maidenhead.”

“Okay, then why the blacksmith? You could have asked any other abled man. Why him?” her sister pressed.

“We were about to fight for our lives. I didn’t want to die without not know how it felt and he…was there. He found me and he was just there.” Arya tried to reason her answer, but even saying it sounded silly.

“Did you not tell Jon you knew Gendry long before he did? You two have history, am I correct?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then you chose him because you trusted him.”

“Of course I trust him! He made me feel safe all those years ago. He was the only family I had. I cared for him, even then…but then I saw him come through those gates and he changed. He looked stronger, and happy. And he had grown handsome, anyone could see that. I felt something when I first spoke to him in the forge. It’d been so long, I was afraid it wouldn’t be the same, but it was and it…”

Sansa smiled as she rose from her seat across from Arya, “I’ll leave you to your bath. We leave to King’s Landing in three moon turns. If you wish to have him warm your bed during that time, I suggest you be more discreet and try not to threaten the chambermaids, I hear coin works just as well.”

Her sister left her chambers, leaving Arya to her disjointed thoughts.


	6. The Singing Of Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry releases his frustrations the best way he knows how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it’s been a hot minute since I updated...but I decided to take a break from writing. I was going through some major writer’s block and frankly, the past year was just SO STRESSFUL. I started a new job at the end of the year, and that has been going so well! I am not as stressed or worrisome and I’ve managed to stay out of a UC flair up. 
> 
> I wanted to come back with updating this WIP because it is one of my favorites to write. It may not be as popular as some of my other WIPS, but it holds a special place in my heart. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and I had fun writing in Gendry’s point of view.

Gendry tossed and turned, the furs of on his feather bed doing little to warm his cold body. He had been given a small room within Winterfell, courtesy of Lady Sansa Stark, so that he wouldn’t have to sleep in the forge on a cot that was too small for his large frame.

He had an inkling that the generous offer was do to his relationship with Arya, but no matter the reason he was glad to sleep on a bed.

It was the first night since Lady Sansa gave him the room that he had used it.

Since the end of The Long Night he had spent his evenings in Arya’s chambers; their naked bodies intertwined as they slept peacefully having nothing but the other’s body heat and the dying embers to warm them.

It felt strange to sleep in a bed so large, when he was used to nothing more than a sleeping cot and light fur, along with the heat of the forge to keep him from freezing to death. Even in Flea Bottom one of his many plights had been the sacks of bundled hay he laid upon each night for comfort. There were times he would use some of the coin he saved to rent a room at the local inn, if only for a night. At least he would have a somewhat decent bed and warm meal before he had to face the tragedy that was his life.

When Davos arrived to collect him, there was no hesitation. At least aiding a king, he would have a full belly and somewhere decent to sleep.

It has been nearly two days since he and Arya had last talked and the distance was aching. He craved her touch, even if it was forced. Of course he had been angry at her. How could someone use the person they love for their own gain? He never imagined that she would do something of that nature.

It was like a slap to the face and it had him questioning her true feelings for him.

Was he only a game to be played? And object to defy her siblings?

No. Impossible. The Arya he knew would never do such a thing, that he was sure of.

With a heavy sigh, he threw the furs off his body. They were doing little to keep out the cold and his body was restless. As his bare feet hit the cold stone, he winced, yet padded to where his breeches and tunic were tossed on a chair. He pulled the on swiftly and nearly moaned in relief when he slid his boots over his frozen feet.

There was only one place that could quench his aching soul and he knew the fires were still burning hot. Even though he had been working tirelessly throughout the day to prepare and arm the men and women of Winterfell for the upcoming battle in King’s Landing, he could still hear the call of the steel. It beckoned him to sing with it.

It was very early morning when he scurried through the castle. He could see the pinkish hues trying to burst through the horizon, and soon the rest of castle would be up and about. But judging by the distance, he knew he had a few hours to himself to bang against the metal without anyone to bother him.

When he reached the forge, he was happy to see that the flames were still burning. The young man he had been teaching took his note and made sure to stoke the fires before heading to bed. Gendry tried not to disturb the sleeping boy as he laid in the cot; gleefully taking the spot when he had been moved to the castle. He was no more than ten and four, orphaned when his father was slaughtered at the Red Wedding and his mother killed by a wight in the crypts.

A member of House Glover had introduced the boy to Gendry and he was happy to take him under his watch, mentoring him so that one day he could have his own forge to run.

Lyonel was his name and he was five foot eight of nothing by limbs. He looked as if he could hardly lift the hammer when he came to Gendry, but surprised him so when he took to working metal. He was scrawny and thin, but had a fighter’s heart, and in some way it reminded Gendry of himself.

“Master Gendry?” Lyonel stirred as Gendry entered the forge.

“Sorry, Lynoel, didn’t mean to wake you.”

Lyonel shook his head and jumped from the cot, “No a worry, sir. I couldna’ sleep with the chill. The forge fires kept it warm…but there’s still a coldness in the air.”

Gendry smiled as he watched the boy rise with excitement. He was ready to work, even if he had been running on little to no sleep. “What woulda’ like me to do?”

A though sprung the Gendry’s head. He appreciated the boy’s enthusiasm, but he’d rather have the forge to himself for a few hours before it was time to start the day. “How ‘bout you take a rest in my rooms in the castle. I have something I need to work on alone.”

There was an excitement behind the boy’s eyes, one that looked all to familiar when he was given opportunities of luxury. “Are ya certain, sir?”

Gendry chuckled and nodded, “Aye, go rest. I’ll have a maid send for you when I need you.”

The boy leapt from the small cot and went bounding towards the castle, a cheeky grin planted upon his young face.

Gendry turned back to the anvil near the corner of the forge and pulled a long piece of metal from behind it. He had tucked away the piece from wondering eyes, only working on it when he had the time. It was the makings of a sword, one that would fit perfectly in the hands of the woman he loved. He knew that Arya would never part with Needle, but it had outgrown her and he decided to make her a weapon; one that he made just for her.

It has similar qualities to that of Needle, but it was longer and heavier. It would balance perfectly and it would allow her to disarm her opponent much faster. It was meant to be a surprise, one given at the feast, but with their recent disagreement, he wasn’t sure if the feast on the morrow would be the right time.

He placed the long piece of metal in the burning flames of the fire, letting it glow red before pulling it from the heat. Raising his hammer, he began his cadences. Each bang was a frustration of flying embers taken by the wind. Sparks flew with each new beat, and soon his movement became rhythmic.

It was as if the steel was singing, lulling him to hit the metal harder. Urging him to bend it to his will. The sound was intoxicating and deafening. It was like a siren calling for it’s prey, and he would gladly be dragged under the waves.

When the metal cooled, he repeated his motions: letting it burn white hot in the fires only to return to beating it senseless.

Soon, he could see the shape of the sword coming into fruition; the edges so sharp it could cut through stone. The tip was needle like, and much like it’s counterpart, could poke the most brutal holes in any enemy. He bounded the handle, first with woolen cloth taken from the sacks of grain he had laid upon on the night the dead came. Then with leather ripped from his own apron. And to keep it all in place, a perfectly rounded sphere of Dragon Glass stood at the hilt.

When he was complete with his work, it shined under the glowing morning light that had just breached the horizon. The shades of orange and yellow making it shine like gold.

It was the perfect weapon.

And the perfect person to wield it was standing in front of him. “Can we talk?”


	7. Shiver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya goes to Gendry and confessions are made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in time for Valentine’s Day, am I right? This chapter is a bit fluffy and only because he we are getting into some serious shit here soon. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to dive into other characters in this WIP, but I think I am going to add a bit of Jon’s POV, Dany’s POV, and Sansa’s POV. I want to explore the Jonerys relationship and sort of fix things up that D&D royally screwed up. Also, the way they casted Meera aside like that in the show...um no no. 
> 
> This WIP has officially become my FIX IT for season 8 and, yes, it is still Gendrya. They are the core of this WIP, I just think it necessary to add those additional POV’s. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy as always!!

Arya waded in her copper tub longer than she intended. The water had run cold and the herbs and oils the maids had used to scent her bath no longer smelled of sweet vanilla and lavender. All the dirt and grime settled towards the bottom and the once steady fire had burned down to nothing but embers.

She had soaked to the point her skin had wrinkled, thinking about the conversation she had just shared with her sister.

It was true she didn’t know of her true feelings for Gendry and it took her near a whole night soaking in a tub to come to the realization that what she felt for him wasn’t just infatuation, but something much more primal. It was engulfing and the mere thought of being parted from him, if even for a day, quenched her heart. It made it ache; a feeling she had once thought she suppressed after her mother and brother were brutally slaughtered.

It was fear she had tried to extinguish, only made stronger by her need to be beside him.

The feeling was unnatural. For so long she had been on her own, learned to survive on her own, learned to live on her own. But now, as she was surrounded by family and friends, she never wanted to be on her own again.

But what she was feeling, did that amount to being in love? She knew she didn’t want to be parted from him, not having just found him again, and there were things that only he could make her feel. Arya could not deny that Gendry was her family and he was long before she decided to bed him on those sacks of grain.

Dawn had crested when she finally emerged from the copper tub. The air was cool and a shiver jolted up her spine as she padded across the stone floor to her bed. Drops of water silently rolled down her drenched body as she took hold of the terry cloth from where it was hanging on one of the posters of her bed. She wrapped herself tightly, trying to urge the chill that ran through her body out.

It wasn’t often her body ran cold, her northern blood had cause for that, but since the Night King took ahold of her neck, she found herself with mild shivers that only seemed to cease when Gendry was around. She found a warmth in his southern blood and on the nights where she could not escape the chill in her spine, she would pull herself close to his body, entangling her limbs with his and grasping at the heat he would provide.

She had avoided the feather bed, knowing that it wouldn’t provide the familiar comfort it had the last few days.

When her clothes were on her damp body, she made her way through the corridors of the still standing section of Winterfell castle. The maids were up and about as dawn began to crest over the horizon and she passed several while they were making their rounds.

She casually overheard their conversation, sounding quite surprised to find a young boy in the bed of the blacksmith’s, the very one that Lady Sansa had appointed. Arya could only smile; she knew of the boy the maids were gossiping about. He had become an orphan, like so many children had, after The Long Night and had taken up an apprenticeship with Gendry.

She knew that the boy wasn’t there by accident and she found herself making her way through the courtyards right where the forge was stationed. Arya could hear the banging of metal before she reached the smithy, Gendry hard at work on whatever it was he was hammering.

It sounded harsh, almost as if he was banging with a fury, no doubt one caused by her.

She had to approach cautiously, not wanting to disturb the angry bull.

He had no inclination that she had been observing him and the way he tended to the nearly complete blade within his hands. It looks so similar to The Needle strapped to waist, she began to wonder if perhaps it was gift for her he had been working on.

She approached quietly, and when he looked up from placing the orb of dragon glass at the hilt of the sword, his eyes widened.

With a small smile, Arya asked, “Can we talk?”

Gendry looked surprised to see her. She had hoped that he would seek her out before the sun rose to greet the new day, but perhaps they were both too stubborn to budge. It was, after all, her actions that got them in this situation so putting aside her pride, she had sought him out.

There was an uneasiness in Gendry’s stride as he lowered the sword in his hand. He placed it behind the anvil, concealed from view, and wiped his soot stained hands on the leather apron around his body before crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you want to talk about?”

Arya hung her head, “Us…me…everything.”

There was silence between them as Gendry contemplated her words. With a sigh, he nodded, motioning for her to join him in the small room behind the forge where he used to sleep and where his apprentice was not too long ago.

Arya followed, making sure no one could see her enter a room unattended with him, before shoving the wooden door shut. She didn’t have the time to speak before Gendry’s lips were on hers and she sighed with contempt. He felt so familiar, and she’d be lying if she didn’t say she missed him on her skin. But before they could further their exploration of wild hands, she gently pushed him away.

“I want to,” she breathed. “But I have to say something first.”

Arya stumbled towards the cot, dropping her body on the small thing before letting out a long sigh. Looking up into Gendry’s sea like eyes, she could see the worry and concern and it made her heart swell. There was love swirling within his irises; a type of love so deep that she was drowning in it. The way her body craved his presence and the way it reacted when he kissed her. She could no longer deny the truth she’d been trying to keep from herself.

“I used you, and for that I’m sorry. No one should use the person they love for their own gain, not even like that.” It was subtle, the way she professed her feelings. It was the only way she knew how to say it without blatantly saying it.

Gendry’s gaze softened and he knelt down in front of her, placing his hands atop her bended knees. Taking her face into his hand, he caressed her cheek, gently rubbing circles in the center of it. “I’d forgiven you in the council room, you didn’t have to apologize again.”

Arya’s eyebrows furrowed and she scoffed, pushing him away before standing from the cot, her hands raised in exasperation. “You stupid bull! I literally said that I love you and the only thing you heard was a bloody apology!”

She turned to him, her left right hand coming to rest on the hilt of Needle while the other was square on her hip. Gendry looked a bit perplexed, and instead of speaking, he just turned on his heel and left. Arya felt a pang in her heart. Had she misread the signs? Did he not love her back? Was he using her like she had with him?

All of the sudden questions swirling in her mind halted when he re-entered the small room. The sword he had been working on before she had arrived to the forge was perfectly balanced within the palms of his hands.

Her assumptions had been correct, it did look a lot like Needle but it was larger, longer. She could see the similarities in the blades, but there were differences that made them each unique. She noticed the design of it, the hilt wrapped in a worn leather that looked reminiscent of the apron Gendry dawned and the piece of dragon glass reminded her the weapon he had crafted specifically for her before the dead had arrived.

“I made this for you.” He blushed as he ran a gentle hand over the sharpness of the blade. “I know it’s nothing like Needle, but I hope you like it nonetheless.”

Arya was hesitant as she grasped for the blade. She ran her hands along the smooth metal, feeling the sleekness beneath her fingertips. The hilt fit perfectly in her hand and the leather surrounding it felt soft and made for the perfect grip. The dragon glass orb was perfectly rounded and glinted in the tiny stream of sunlight the back room managed to let through.

“It’s perfect.” She whispered. “But how-”

“I noticed that Needle was getting too small for you, figured you’d need something that fit your stance a bit better.”

“Gendry, I-”

She hadn’t the chance to speak before her lips were invaded by his. They moved in sync as a flurry of kisses cascaded around her. It felt like years before he pulled back, both of them trying to catch their breath. He brushed his thumb over her swollen bottom lip and smiled.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you there was fluff...
> 
> Tags will be updated accordingly to when I add those additional POV’s and things are going to go down, so just be prepared.


End file.
